"Please," he said. "We've been worried sick."
In the silence that followed, Shea felt tears burn her eyes. For all their faults, she loved her brothers and they loved her. She had never intended to hurt them.
And then Clint muttered a vile curse word and stomped into the kitchen. "It didn't work," he yelled as he stepped outside. "I guess she's really not here."
The engine of Dean's Oldsmobile fired up, and a few seconds later gravel churned noisily again.
And Nick tugged her to her feet.
"Now I'm certain I should be more afraid of your brothers than of the authorities." He pulled her against his chest. "How did you turn out to be so sweet, growing up with that?"
"I'm not always sweet," she whispered.
"You coulda fooled me."
* * *
His life was still a royal mess he might never get straightened out. So why did he feel so much better than he had yesterday? Not just better physically but deep down, in places he'd rather not explore. More whole. More content.
He packed what little he had into a duffel bag Shea had borrowed from her aunt's closet, tossing his belongings in carelessly. What he had didn't come close to filling the small bag. Shea had half filled a duffel bag of her own, with what she'd borrowed from Lenny's late wife's closet and a few things from her cousins' drawers.
Somewhere in there was that third condom. He had to let Shea go, had to make certain she was not a part of this when it fell apart. But he surely would like to get the chance to use that last condom.
As he walked down the stairs for the last time he heard her voice, soft and low, sweet and arousing as if every breath washed over his skin. When he stepped into the kitchen doorway he saw her, standing against the counter with her back to him. For the trip she'd confiscated something a little more proper from her cousin's closet. A pair of navy blue pants and a white knit top with a touch of lace around the neckline. She'd even found a pair of strappy white sandals in her aunt's closet.
The pants hugged her hips, and the knit top accentuated her fine curves.
"No," she whispered loudly into the borrowed cell phone. "Mark, I'm fine, I swear."
She tapped her toes nervously as she listened to Mark's response.
"This is the story of a lifetime. I'm not about to let it get away from me, no matter what you have to say about the matter."
Nick's smile faded. The story of a lifetime. He'd heard that from Shea before, but he'd begun to think he meant more to her than a story. He'd been sure of it, for a while.
"Mark," she said, exasperated. "I'll see you in a few days. For now I'm sticking to Taggert like glue."
Nick got a sick feeling in his stomach, low and acute. All of a sudden what had happened last night made perfect sense. He starts to talk about leaving, and she comes to him with three condoms and a come-hither smile that would do in any man.
Did she think that if she slept with him he'd be reluctant to let her go? Was this her way of making sure she saw her damned story through to the end?
She turned around, saw him there and smiled. As if nothing had changed, as if she wasn't every bit as manipulative as her brothers.
"I gotta go, Mark," she said, cutting her cameraman off and hitting the end button while the sounds of the young man's voice still echoed desperately from the phone.
She placed the cell phone on the counter. "Nothing new," she said. "Boone hasn't done anything but look for me, and Grace has kinda hit a wall."
"It was nice of her to do what she did," Nick said as Shea walked toward him with that damned smile on her face. "Thank her for me."
"You can thank her yourself," Shea said as she placed her arms around his neck. "When this is all over and you meet Grace and her husband."
He couldn't believe her gall. She acted as if nothing had changed. He had made an absolute fool of himself, and she was smiling like the cat who ate the canary. He could almost see the yellow feathers sticking from her mouth.
But she didn't have to know he was a complete idiot. He could keep that information to himself.
He gave her a quick, passionless kiss. "Give me the keys to the truck and I'll pull it around." He offered his hand, palm up, for the keys. Shea wouldn't know for a few minutes that she'd just gotten herself a goodbye kiss.
She wasn't at all suspicious as she headed for the purse on the counter, removing the keys to Lenny's truck. Confident, wasn't she?
Before she could hand the keys to him, a sharp knock sounded on the kitchen door. A gray head appeared; eyes lively and laughing peered in. Shea admitted the very pleased Maude, who cast them each a bright smile.
"Were you in the servants' stairwell?" she asked.
"Yes," Shea said. "You were brilliant."
And a little scary. Nick decided to keep that opinion to himself. He approached Shea, bag in hand. "We have to get out of here. Give me those keys and I'll pull the truck around."
Shea was in the process of obeying when Maude snatched the keys from her hand. "Are you daft?" she snapped, bringing the keys to her chest. "The coppers will be looking for that truck." She reached into her handbag. "That's why I'm here. You can take my car!" She seemed delighted with the plan.
Shea glanced up at him. "It might be a good idea," she said softly. "Everyone is looking for Lenny's truck, and it won't do either of us any good to steal a car at this point."
He couldn't argue with her, because she was right.
They gathered their bags, made sure all the lights were off, and locked the door behind them. Shea returned the spare key to its hiding place beneath the flower pot.
They walked toward Maude's house, the old lady in front, Nick bringing up the rear. What on earth would he be traveling in? A pink Cadillac? A powder blue Lincoln? Some thirty-year-old monstrosity?
A brown paper bag sat on the driveway outside the garage. "I packed you two a snack." The bag Maude lifted looked heavy enough to contain a snack for a regiment of starving soldiers. She had to hold it with both hands. Shea took the brown paper bag and Maude opened the garage door.
Sure enough, the vehicle before him was a whale of a car, and, heaven forbid, it was the most awful shade of green…
And then he noticed that Maude was pointing to the car beside and slightly behind her own green one. "My brother Louis passed away a few years back, and he left me his car. Bless his soul, he loved that car and I didn't have the heart to sell it. I have it serviced regularly, so you shouldn't have any problem with it."
Nick's eyes were riveted to his getaway car, a 1969, midnight-blue Z28 Camaro.
"I think it's older than Lenny's truck," Shea whispered as Maude walked toward the car.
"Bite your tongue," Nick said with the proper respect. "This is a fine car."
"If you say so," she said skeptically.
They threw their bags and the huge snack into the back seat, Maude gave them each a hug and then they climbed into the Camaro.
Maude leaned into the car through Shea's rolled-down window. "I'll expect to be invited to the wedding," she said with a prim smile.
"Wedding?" Shea asked, casting Nick a quick and terrified glance.
Maude shook her finger at Nick. "There had better be a wedding." She nodded her head in finality. "I'll have Abigail paint you some fruit as a wedding present."
Nick started the loud engine and carefully pulled the car out of the garage. Maude followed, waving enthusiastically, and Shea put on her seat belt.
As soon as the opportunity arose, he'd dump her. It didn't matter where or when, but it was time. Shea Sinclair, weathergirl, had all the story she was going to get out of him.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Nick was too quiet, his attention on the road ahead, his mind elsewhere. He was probably nervous about what would happen once they reached Huntsville. Hiding in Marion had been nice, but they'd both known it wouldn't last.
But Shea did wish he would turn his head now and then and give her an en
couraging smile, that he would take her hand and acknowledge, in some small way, that what had happened last night and this morning had been extraordinary. Spectacular and life-altering.
Loving Nick was going to change her life in so many ways, she couldn't begin to count them.
She hoped he hadn't been frightened by Maude's comment about a wedding. Maude was a sweetheart, but she was also very old-fashioned. She knew, thanks to Shea's interfering brothers and the telltale condom wrappers, that she and Nick had slept together. In Maude's mind that was probably grounds for an immediate wedding.
Shea lifted her chin defiantly. She was more modern than Maude, more worldly wise. Times had changed.
But a small chapel would be nice, she thought warmly. Just close friends and family, of course. Tulips instead of roses, if the season was right. Candles, of course, and lots of greenery. They could play Martha Reeves at the reception and she could wake up next to Nick every day for the rest of her life.
And he thought she would make a great mother! The kids she'd never really wanted seemed real to her now, necessary and inevitable. Nick's babies, dark-haired children who would fulfill his dreams and hers. Dreams she'd never known she had. Maybe, if she played everything right, she could have it all.
Shea shook off the thoughts, wondering where on earth they'd come from. Nick had never said anything to her about a permanent relationship. He had never even mentioned the word married, except in relation to that femme fatale Lauren.
They'd been traveling all morning, and the tension in the car was so thick she could almost reach out and touch it. Of course the tension was thick! They were driving into battle, and the rest of their lives depended on the outcome.
"Where will we go first?" she asked.
Nick didn't even turn his head in her direction as he answered. "I'm going to drop you off near the I-65 interchange," he said in an apathetic voice. "After that, it's best you don't know where I go."
He was trying to keep her from the battle that was still to come, even though she'd told him she didn't need any man to protect her. "You'll need my help," she insisted softly.
Nick turned to look at her then, planting icy blue eyes on her face. "No," he said coldly. "I don't need you. I used you to get safely away and you cared for me while my leg was healing. Other than that…" He returned his eyes to the road.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Nick had just basically told her that he was finished with her. That he didn't need or want her around.
"What about that state trooper?" she asked, a hint of panic welling up inside her. "He saw me. I can't just show up at work tomorrow morning as if nothing happened."
"Deny everything," Nick said succinctly. "There are no pictures and he didn't get the license plate number off the truck." He picked up speed and changed lanes sharply. "I have no doubt that you can make a complete fool of any man who dares to disagree with you."
This time she heard it. There was anger in his voice, a sharp, biting fury.
"What's wrong?"
"My life is in a shambles and you ask me what's wrong?"
"No, what's wrong with us?"
He looked at her again and gave her a cold, cynical smile. "Honey, there is no us. If you think last night changed things, you really are a virgin."
She felt like he'd stomped on her chest, knocked the breath from her lungs and ripped out her heart.
"Did you think that because we had sex I'd let you tag along to the end of the story?" he asked, returning his eyes to the road. "Hell, weathergirl, if you wave condoms in any man's face and tell him you've got an itch that needs to be scratched, it'll get scratched. You don't really have to have the condoms, but it does show a man that your intentions are serious and you're safety conscious. Men appreciate that in a woman."
"Last night wasn't … like that."
"Of course it was," he said calmly. "But last night is over and I've got things to do."
"I could help," she began, her heart sinking.
"I don't want your help, weathergirl."
Too soon they reached the Huntsville-Decatur exit. Nick took the exit too fast, speeding down the ramp and taking the road to Huntsville. He hadn't gone far before he turned off the pavement, guiding the car onto the shoulder.
Shea didn't move. He couldn't be serious. This was some kind of sick joke.
"I'm not leaving," she said softly, her eyes on a car that sped past.
Nick reached past her, grabbed the door handle and threw the passenger door open. He reached into the back seat and grabbed the duffel bag that had her borrowed clothes in it, and he tossed it in front of her and out the open door. The bag landed on a patch of soft grass.
"The last time I tried to let you go I didn't have the physical strength to force you from the car," he said softly. "Today I do. Don't make me drag you out of your seat and dump you in that ditch over there."
With a sinking heart she realized he was serious. She wanted to believe that his intentions were noble, that he loved her and didn't want her involved any further … but Nick was a terrible liar, and there was no love or nobility in his voice or his eyes. He was done with her, and there was nothing she could do but walk away with what little dignity she had left intact.
"What do you want me to tell the police?"
"I don't care what you tell them."
Shea took a deep breath and left the car. She would not cry in front of Nick. She would not beg him to take her along.
"Be careful," she said, slamming the door and leaning in through the open window.
"You, too."
"You know where to find me, if you need me," she said, feeling pathetic as the words left her mouth.
"Thanks, but I won't be needing you." He put the car in gear and turned his attention to the highway, so Shea stepped away from the car and picked up her bag. She watched as Nick pulled the Camaro onto the highway and sped away, and then she started walking.
* * *
He'd love to go to his house, sit in the upstairs window and watch the neighbors and see what was going on there. But he didn't dare. The Feds or the local cops were probably watching the house, as well as his old office and the homes of anyone he'd called friend during his years in Huntsville.
Like it or not, he missed Shea already. He hadn't had any choice but to turn her loose, but still he missed her. No one would ever know he was so foolish.
Wearing the baseball cap low to disguise his face, he drove to a deserted warehouse at the south end of town. He'd once bought plumbing fixtures here, before the place went out of business. He parked Maude's Camaro out back, where it was hidden from the street, and walked around the building until he found an unlocked window. Like Shea's brother Boone, he wasn't about to let a locked door keep him out.
His investigating would have to wait until dark, when he would be less recognizable driving around town in the Camaro. There wasn't a soul in Huntsville who hadn't seen his face a thousand times. He could get busted sitting at a red light, if he wasn't careful.
He found a chair, abandoned because it didn't sit steady on the ground, and sat, extending his leg to rest on an empty crate. His leg was better, but it wasn't completely healed by any means. The ache went deep, and he wondered if it would ever go away.
He wondered if he'd live long enough to completely recover.
* * *
Shea's head buzzed, her stomach churned and she'd been asked so many questions nothing made sense anymore. She was tired, she was hungry and she wanted a long, hot bath and a nap, if she could manage to sleep ever again.
She sat in a padded blue chair in the detective's office, but it was a group of FBI agents who continuously asked the questions. They leaned over her, they paced, they asked the same questions again and again. Where had she been for the past week? Why had Taggert dropped her off so close to home? Had she been acquainted with Taggert before the alleged kidnapping?
The "alleged" made her head swim again. Some of the eyes that bored into her were not
friendly. They were accusing. Suspicious.
Tired beyond tired, hurting deep inside and afraid to show it, Shea lifted her head and saw a familiar face on the other side of the room.
She raised her hand to quiet the herd, steeled her heart against the tears that constantly threatened and said, "You guys are making me sick. I'll answer questions, but only if he asks them. I'll only talk to him."
The FBI agents turned their heads in unison, and Luther lifted a hand to his chest. "Me?"
She nodded.
The FBI agent who had been asking most of the questions tried to dissuade her with a smile, then stern disapproval, then thinly veiled threats. She would not be dissuaded.
Finally they relented.
Luther took her arm and led her into a cool, quiet office. As he closed the door on the unhappy FBI agents, Shea glanced around, searching for a two-way mirror. She didn't see anything to make her think she and Luther weren't completely alone.
He leaned against the door and sighed, weary and disapproving. His white dress shirt was slightly rumpled, his navy blue tie loosened and the jacket of his dark gray suit swung open to show off the badge on his belt and the shoulder holster and smallish gun. He was the picture-perfect homicide detective, skeptical and hard and basically good.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded and took the chair before a wide desk piled high with manila folders and office memos. A huge jar of jelly beans added the only color to the messy desk.
Luther crossed the room and propped his leg against the desk, placing himself just a little bit too close to her. He wasn't as broad as Nick, but he was definitely as tall. He knew how to use his size to intimidate.
In his best cop voice he asked, "Why don't you just tell me what happened?"
In the quiet of the cool office, looking up at a familiar face, Shea felt the buzzing in her head finally start to fade. Her stomach quit churning. "He's innocent."
Luther emitted a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a snarl.
"He panicked after the trial and ran. Surely you can understand that."
It was clear that Luther did not understand. "If he was innocent he could've gone through the proper channels to prove it. His lawyer could've filed an appeal—"
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